


only person on earth

by snowhoe



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Watford Eighth Year, and not the air kind, but!! it is a fun time still!!, im just trying to put feelings into words, it’s a decent amount of angst because you know what chaps, it’s a vent, kinda small but be kind to yourself, kindaaaaa, there is a tw for thoughts of suicide, there’s not really a plot bc its mostly characterization, wink wink, yeah we’ll ignore this fact but it is a fact <3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowhoe/pseuds/snowhoe
Summary: Simon Snow, without a doubt, was worth the walk and the nightmares and the unfulfilled promises. He made Baz want to suffer just to suffer.It was dangerous, sadistic, and incredibly fun. Being in love was fun. Fun as in believing there was a god, but fun nonetheless.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	only person on earth

**Author's Note:**

> yeah im not quite sure either <3

The story started like most. You read the first sentence. That was two. Three, four. 

It started like most, but in many ways it started unlike any other. The story started with an ending. 

It started like this: Baz Pitch—Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch was his full name, but often many found it too pretentious and too full-of-it, or many found that they hated the first part of the last name and the last part, and many was Baz himself—crying in the shower, entirely alone.

His father was in Baz’s home, presumably lying down next to his wife in bed, under the same roof as his children. His mother was—well, the funny thing was, she was underground. Because she was dead. It wasn’t funny, but Baz laughed through a sob anyways, wondering _how did I get here?_

That really was the question of the year. One could answer his mother’s death. One could answer his father’s absence and, sometimes if he was up to feeling something when it came to him, dismay of Baz. One could answer how none of his friends really know him. And one could answer that he was seventeen and never felt truly loved in any sort of way. 

The answer could be one, it could be all, or it could be none. Baz had no clue. He didn’t even want to answer the question sometimes. 

He was crying in the shower. It felt cliche, so he laughed again. Then he cried more. 

Luckily, his roommate, the git, was out with his best friend. Actually it was a bit unlucky. If Simon was here, then at least Baz wouldn’t be alone, because he’d be right there waiting for Baz to leave the bathroom. So maybe that was why Baz is crying. 

The shower floor was cold, and hard, and mocking, so Baz stood up. He wiped his eyes, felt cried out, and turned off the shower. 

Part of him wanted to end it all, he really did. He’d love to make it all dramatic, to say, _Look at me, look at who I really am for the first time in your bloody life,_ then make the choice he can’t go back from. 

But Baz really, truly, also didn’t want to. He wanted to believe life was good. However, he did stop believing it was at some point. Because the thing about believing in good things, believing in happy things, is that you need proof for it. You need to experience good and happy things to know that they’re there, and that they can happen again. 

The good things and the happy things stopped feeling so good and happy after a while. 

Baz was stuck. And he was so, unbelievably alone. 

The ending is an omission. The ending is you putting the nail in the tiny crack, pounding it in with a hammer, and the whole wall breaks. Revealing a flood. Revealing a complete mess. 

The ending, like and unlike others, was the truth. 

Simon twirled his hair when he was distracted. It felt like the whole world was watching him when he did it, but in reality it was only Baz. 

Not that Simon knew that. Baz did. That was another truth. 

In Baz’s eyes, Simon was everything good wrapped in one. His eyes, his freckles, his fingers twirling in his hair. _And_ there was the pure heroism that came with being Simon Snow, the reckless goodness, the brilliant and golden hoorays. 

There was so much goodness that Simon was, like a vault of gold, unobtainable to Baz. It was sad, the way he wanted and wanted this one person so much even though he could never have them. It was sad. 

It was all very sad. That was another truth. 

The biggest problem with Baz realizing how alone he was—besides the obvious problem, _that he was alone_ —was that he closed himself off from people even more. And that he was okay with that. 

Niall and Dev seemed to have noticed, but they never commented. They would only let Baz stop smiling completely, or say anger fueled comments to them. Maybe, just maybe, Baz would get a, “Woah, calm down.” But it was a slim chance. 

Baz being closed off meant he was angry. He was so angry. With the world, mostly. 

Baz didn’t believe that things happened for a reason. How could he when nothing good had happened to him? He didn’t believe in anything, and so he didn’t believe in fate, and he didn’t believe in the universe. He reasoned everything by saying, for lack of a better way of phrasing it, that the world happened to people. Shit happened, and you dealt with it or you didn’t. You accepted it or you rejected it. 

_Go to hell, World,_ is what he had to say.

With all the prior knowledge of Baz Pitch, you would think he didn’t believe in love. 

That might be true. It would certainly be true if he wasn’t in love himself. 

Yes, he believed in love, he was living the nightmare. No, he didn’t believe it would turn into a daydream. That was how it seemed to work for Baz, like the world was making him walk up this hill with promises of a joyous ride down, but the hill never ended. He kept walking and walking. 

Simon Snow, without a doubt, was worth the walk and the nightmares and the unfulfilled promises. He made Baz want to suffer _just to suffer._

It was dangerous, sadistic, and incredibly fun. Being in love was fun. Fun as in believing there was a god, but fun nonetheless. 

When Baz looked at Simon, he didn’t think about anything else. His brain drained at the sight of those curls. 

And so, because it was dark and darkness may be Baz’s one real friend, Baz almost always fell asleep looking at Simon. It was easier than thinking about how Simon wasn’t there laying next to him, laying next to him exactly like Daphne was his father, laying next to him like the bodies were his mother, and laying next to him like Agatha might have his dear, beloved Simon. 

Things changed with Simon too. 

Sometimes Baz would go days without picking a fight, merely because he didn’t have the energy for it, he didn’t have the energy to feel so unwanted. Sometimes Baz would fight with Simon nonstop about everything because he was so angry with Simon for not wanting him. 

Of course, Simon noticed too. 

The third time this weird pattern happened, Simon completely shut him down. Three—bad things always came in threes—days earlier, Baz had been completely mute, which Simon noted, and was bringing it up after Baz, so _nicely_ , commented on how bad of a tie job he had done. 

“You—you don’t talk to me for a few days, and I think, ‘Oh, finally, some peace,’ you know. Maybe we can be friends. But then! Then you are commenting on my shirt again and...and my hair and how I won’t stop moving, as if you haven’t told me a million times before. Merlin, you’re confusing me by not being the absolute worst, and then you’re the absolute worst again.

And, and maybe I can be fine with it! But it’s so unlike you that it’s worrying me, and Penny even said, ‘You worrying about Baz is worse than you thinking he’s going to murder you,’ so would you please just knock it off. Or at least, er, tell me why you’re acting like this? It doesn’t have to be me actually! It can be anyone. Please, just. Stop.”

He took a deep breath and stared at Baz almost as if he didn’t understand what came out of his mouth either. 

Baz walked out the door.

Simon followed him, but he didn’t know where to look for someone who didn’t want to be found. 

Truthfully, even when he was at his lowest, Baz still wanted to be found by Simon. He wanted Simon to see emotion, humanity. But now...Baz wanted to find a way to survive in the darkness without Simon Snow.

Back to avoiding, and walking and walking and walking. It was a game. 

Cat and mouse. Cat and cat. Mouse and mouse. Who knew anymore? 

If someone told Baz that Simon Snow was hunting him down, not to kill, but to talk, he’d probably tell them they were ridiculous. 

When Simon managed to catch his opponent, finally, he pinned Baz against the wall of the Weeping Tower. It was dark outside and no one was around, but Baz knew that even if they were in broad daylight, Simon would still do it. It was a game, after all, and Simon played to win. 

“Can you stop”—he huffed—“avoiding me.” Baz could feel Simon’s hands through the fabric of his white button down, squeezing his shoulders. 

“I don’t want to.”

“You sound like a child.”

“You look like one.” It wasn’t as venomous as he intended, almost as if his spikes had been dwindled into nubs. 

At that, Simon laughed. His grip loosed on Baz’s shoulders, and he even rested his head on Baz’s chest. 

Baz stopped breathing. Or he really, really started breathing. One or the other. “Merlin and Morgana, what is happening?” Simon said into Baz. “You’re you, and I’m—I’m me. _Merlin.”_

“Glad you know who you are and who you’re with, Snow. Maybe you’ll make it.” He tried to make it sound calm, cool, and collected, but he was freaking out. _Simon Snow is tickling my neck with his laughter._

The comment from Baz only made Simon laugh harder, and it was beautiful. There weren’t many words you could use to describe what Simon looked like. Beautiful would have to suffice, but it is safe to say that it is the wrong one. It’s far too underwhelming. 

“Snow,” Baz said because he wanted to regain some composure. Not that Simon had much either, but he wasn’t the one in who was in love with his enemy. Baz was. “Simon.”

Simon looked up and instead of laughter, it was a smile, bright and fatal. Stepping back, the smile held on his face, but he let go of Baz all together. 

Suddenly, Simon said, “I’m tired, Baz.” Then, even more suddenly: “Can we stop?” 

“Stop what?”

“Fighting? Hiding? Running? Chasing? Can’t we just…start over or something?”

Baz sighed. The stone was hard against his back. “Afraid not, Snow.”

Cue the puppy dog eyes. An evil, vile weapon never used on Baz before, but definitely on Penelope. And every other person, basically. 

“Right. Right, I assume we can’t start over. How about we Or Something? We can make up the rules as we go along, yeah?”

“Si— _Snow_. We can’t be friends.” 

“Then we’ll be Or Something.”

“Why do you even bother?”

“You look tired too, Baz.” There was a twitch of his lips. “It’s out last year and—and, whether I like it or not, you’re part of the stupid idea of _home_ I have stuck in my head. Penny, er, she kind of told me that. Heh, I didn’t figure it out myself…” he trailed off, scuffing the rocks with his shoe. “So...if we’re both tired of fighting, and we have barely any time at all left to hate each other’s guts, and we don’t even want to hate each other’s guys, then why not?”

Baz’s head shot up. “Hold on, who said I didn’t want to hate your guts? Because, for the record, I do want to hate your guts, and, oh look, I do hate them.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“You—” Baz started, but stopped. 

_Holyfuckwhat._

“I mean, Penny says you don’t at least. And Penny’s smart.”

_Ofcourse._

He stayed silent, letting Simon continue. “Please, Baz? We can have boundaries and fight still, but not like the past seven years. I’m too tired for that.”

Simon did seem tired. Simon put a lot of effort into finding him. Simon obviously talked to Penny a lot about the situation. It almost seemed like Simon lived, breathed, and spoke Baz.

Which is why Baz says, clearly damning all the walls he built up: “Fine.”

The Rules of Or Something:

  1. We’re not friends. Don’t call it friends.
  2. No plotting to kill Simon
  3. No thinking Baz is plotting to kill Simon 
  4. No hating on the other’s appearance, personality, or tendencies 
  5. No weird compliments, either 
  6. Must help with homework if needed
  7. Share the chips under our beds
  8. Keep the room clean; and
  9. No hair gel



The Making of the Rules:

  1. “Yeah, I agree, Baz. It would be weird to call you my friend.”
  2. “I’m not plotting to kill you!”
  3. “It’s only fair, Snow.”
  4. “I really hate it when you do it.”
  5. “What? The last thing I want is for you to go bezerk on me and start acting like a friend.”
  6. “How is that fair? You know I don’t need help with homework. Especially from you.” (“Rule number four, Baz!”)
  7. “Again. Not. Fair.”
  8. “Fine, I guess I can compromise. But I’m only cleaning every two to five business days.”
  9. “I like it that way.”



The Rules That Didn’t Make the Cut:

  1. Must call Simon by his first name
  2. Sharing beds



Eleven wasn’t a rule because it wasn’t anticipated. However, for the first two weeks, things were decent. Different, but decent. 

Simon went along with it just fine, and he seemed much brighter, like he had a spring in his step. Some nights they would be sitting in their rooms, separate beds for the time being, and Simon would talk and talk about how he made Penny laugh so hard milk came out of her nose or about how he didn’t understand the assignment at all. 

If it was something like the former one, Baz would simply listen. If it was something like the latter one, Baz would end up trying to explain it to Simon. 

And Baz didn’t want to say that he fell into a routine with Simon. No, that was dangerous and led somewhere he didn’t want it going. 

However, Baz fell into a routine with Simon. That was another truth. 

Baz was crying in the shower again. 

He was crying for the new things as well as the old. Simon being confusing, the knowledge that he would eventually lose Simon and his Or Something. His dad and how he hasn’t said anything to Baz about winter break, the ache in his heart to see his siblings and to be whole again. His mother, the tomb he now calls his mother. 

He sobbed, he cried, and he didn’t put a silencing charm on the bathroom before he went in.

It was careless. Baz must’ve gotten so used to Simon that he forgot that there was a line between not-antagonizing and complete trust. They were on that line. 

Baz opened the door to see Simon standing outside of it with a terrible, bunched up face on. He immediately wanted to remove it. “What, Snow?”

“You...were crying.”

Freezing up, which was something that happened too much around Simon for Baz to be okay with it, he replied, “No. I wasn’t.”

“I could hear you, Baz.” He stepped closer. 

Baz wanted to burst into flames. Right there, right in front of Simon. He wasn’t supposed to see Baz like that, or hear it for that matter. No one was supposed to. _That’s why he did it in the shower._

“I didn’t know hearing someone else cry was so...painful.”

“Shut up, Snow.” 

“I wanted to open the door and tell you it would be alright, but I couldn’t for. Obvious reasons.”

“Rule five, Simon.”

“Baz, talk to me.”

They were close. Closer than ever before, even though they weren’t touching and they’ve touched on some occasions. Baz closed his eyes.

He realized that he wasn’t alone this time. Simon was in the room, and he had heard it all. It was terrifying to think that Baz was vulnerable around Simon, but it was a lot better than being alone. That was another truth. 

Sighing through his crooked nose, Baz walked around Simon. He didn’t want to see Simon’s face when he said it. 

With a deep breath, he spoke maybe one of the truest things he had ever said. “Sometimes I feel like the only person on earth. And I don’t know how to make it go away.”

Baz was still facing the window, so it was a complete surprise when Simon snuck his arms around Baz’s waist and held him from the back. 

They stayed like that for a while. 

Simon’s feet eventually got tired. It made sense, they stood there for Crowley knows how long, but the moment being over only meant awkwardness. 

He unwrapped his arms from Baz’s middle, but instead of backing away completely, he took Baz’s hand and led them to Simon’s bed. 

“Snow, what are you doing?” 

“Showing you you’re not the only person on earth.”

Baz positively melted on sight. 

Hesitantly, Baz climbed into the bed next to Simon. It was already dark to begin with, and after their...hug thing, it was even later. 

Despite the darkness, Baz knew Simon could still see him. That’s why he was staring, and Baz was staring right back. That’s all they did for a while. Got comfortable in each other’s eyes.

Baz has to speak. “Why?” he simply asked.

Simon reached up, touching Baz’s jaw. His hands were so warm, and Baz knew they had freckles on them. “There was one more thing Penny was right about.”

Baz swilled. “That is?”

“I—er,” Baz could tell Simon was flushed, “really like you. Like that. _A lot._ ”

The world was upside down. Here, preserved in time, was a very good and very happy moment. 

Simon kissed Baz before he could reply. 

It was soft at first. Baz was still in shock, so it took a second for him to respond, but when he did—wow. Their lips connected perfectly so, which was apparently all Simon needed to amp it up. He pushed, opening up Baz’s mouth in favor of tasting it. 

Baz would’ve thanked the world, but he was a bit busy.

Simon fell asleep a while ago, an opportunity that Baz took advantage of. He laid there, the darkness surrounding him rather than becoming his, watching the boy of his dreams and nightmares sleep right next to him. 

The story might’ve begun with an ending, but it also ended with a beginning. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! drink water and stay safe <3


End file.
